


Bad Side of Twenty-Five

by iktwabrokenbone (apiculteur)



Category: Bandom, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, so ill leave the tags at that, tbh i dont want yall 2 kno too much abt whats gonna happen???, Перевод на русский | Translation in Russian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-30 13:36:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5165774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apiculteur/pseuds/iktwabrokenbone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tyler never thought he would make it to twenty-five. (Or, the way Tyler Joseph lived and died.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Side of Twenty-Five

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Ethereal Whispers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3920707) by [breakfastatmilliways](https://archiveofourown.org/users/breakfastatmilliways/pseuds/breakfastatmilliways). 



> look at end notes 4 trigger warnings fam
> 
> hello fam it is me frankie who still writes. in fact, this is the second fic i have finished today. oH phandom big bang!!! if y'all r a fan of phan or banging, check out my pbb fic over [here!!!](http://lolester.tumblr.com/post/131819475087/only-fools-do-what-i-do) it contains no actually banging but lots of unnecessary angst!!
> 
> aLso this is based off an amazing fic which RLY FUCKIN UPSET ME and i CRIED a whole lot reading it (and a lil bit writing this too!!) if y'all watch the yogscast/enjoy reading fics of fandoms u dont kno, check that shit out bc its some qual

As a kid, he had been so full of hope and joy. That’s how all kids were, how all kids should be. He went from something shiny to something worn and faded as the years passed, hope seeping out his pores until he was left as an empty shell. Nothing was left for him. He hated what he had. Joy didn’t visit him anymore, or not often enough to make it worth it. He was crushed under the weight of the world, nothing left to live for.

It was then, a broken mess, no longer able to even cry about the things he missed, that he tried to kill himself. It hurt. Dying hurt. Dying felt wrong. No matter how much he had welcomed it, bringing about his own death went against human nature. He felt panic and regret as he slipped out of consciousness, almost called his own ambulance.

He didn’t. Dying hurt and dying scared him, but living was so much worse. Not only because of everything that had driven him to this, to wanting to end himself, but because everyone would _know_. They would look at him, pitying, as he lay in a hospital bed. He would have to see his family cry, and claim they were just happy that he had survived. He would have to see them trying to work out what they did wrong, how they could have helped him.

They couldn’t. No one could help him. That’s what he had written in his brief note.

_I love you all. You couldn’t have saved me. I didn’t want to be saved. I just want to die. Don’t blame yourself._

The basics. Hopefully enough to stop their guilt. Could he be blamed for not wanting to write down too much? He was scared. He wanted death, but it was so certain. There was no coming back after this.

It was his roommate who found him on the bathroom floor, had called the ambulance. According to his roommate, Tyler had been conscious when she had came into the bathroom, if only just. He couldn’t remember a thing about it.

He remembered only too well the faces of his friends and family, how sorry they were, the bittersweet tears. The people who told him, “I wish I could have helped,” and the people who knew better than to say that.

Looking back, it had been a mess, and he was surprised he hadn’t finished himself off when he realised it didn’t work. Frick, was he happy that he hadn’t, though. These days, it was so foreign to him, the thought of wanting to die. It crossed his mind at bad times, sure, but it was nothing serious.

He was _happy_. Tyler felt fine. Over the past six months, Tyler had enjoyed life, being with Josh and singing in the shower and eating banana pancakes. He was living with his best friend, who he was also dating, and things had never been better.

At age sixteen, Tyler had cried and promised himself he would never be twenty-five. Twenty-five was older than he deserved. He was too poisoned to live that long; he was toxic to the world around him, and he didn’t want to live anyway. Before he was twenty-five, he would be dead. Sixteen-year-old Tyler had been more sure of his own death than the colour of the sky or the existence of gravity.

Sixteen-year-old Tyler was wrong. In five minutes time, Tyler would be twenty-five.

He cuddled close to Josh on the couch, staring at the clock above their TV. “I didn’t think this would ever happen,” he whispered, and Josh kissed the top of his head.

“That’s why we’re counting down. Because then we know you can get to twenty-five. Then you can do anything, yeah?”

Tyler nodded, biting his lip. Part of him expected an asteroid to smash through their roof, crushing them. Or maybe someone with a gun running into the room, pointing it at them. Something, somehow, would surely stop this.

One minute.

Josh nudged him. “You’re almost there,” he said, resting his head on Tyler’s shoulder, and Tyler knew he was trying to listen to his heartbeat. Maybe Tyler should check his pulse. Would it stop just before midnight?

Thirty seconds.

“I’m going to do this, Josh.”

Twenty-five seconds.

“I know you will.”

Twenty.

They sat in silence, staring.

“Ten seconds,” Josh told him. He sounded excited, more so than Tyler had ever heard him before. “Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Happy twenty-fifth birthday, Tyler. I love you.”

“I love you too,” he said, letting a tear slip. He knew Josh had, too.

He turned in Josh’s arms, slipping his hands under Josh’s shirt, giggling as Josh shivered.

“You’re so cold. What are you, the arctic?” Josh asked, and Tyler let himself laugh as loud as he wanted to. It was just past midnight, and they had neighbours, but he didn’t _care_ because he was alive. He never thought he would live to see this day, never thought he would be snuggled up next to his boyfriend if it ever _did_ come.

Tyler draped himself on top of Josh, much to his protest. “Shut up, you’re supposed to be strong enough to let me sleep on top of you.”

At that, Josh huffed. “I’m the strongest guy you know, sleep on me as much as you want. Nerd.”

***

Things only got better. Since he had decided he wouldn’t be able to live past twenty-five, the birthday had been a sort of deadline for him. In the weeks leading up to his birthday, he had been shaking, sure something would go wrong. He would crash back into the depression he once suffered from, or get in some kind of accident, or kill himself purely because he feared living to that age. He was afraid, and without Josh, he might have ended up dying before he was old. Even something as simple as, “Trust me, you can do this,” helped him get through it.

Now, he was finally free. He had defied death, he was sure. He dragged Josh along as he ran in an empty field, hardly getting forty metres before feeling tired. Running around to appreciate his freedom was pretty intensive.

Tyler huffed, taking deep breaths. “Okay, I’m actually- yeah, actually really breathless already. I might just-” He sat down, lying back on the grass.

Josh laughed. “I’m worried about you, Tyler. You’re an old man.”

Tyler gave him a shove with his foot. “You’re older than me. I can see your grey hairs.”

They joked like that until Tyler’s back was hurting and he could feel his clothes getting damp from the grass. He heaved himself up, getting light-headed from standing up too quick. It continued for a few seconds, before he turned to pull Josh up. He tugged at the hand Josh held out, pouting when Josh hardly budged.

“Don’t hurt your back, grandpa,” he said, using the hand Tyler wasn’t holding to push himself up. Tyler was getting weaker, if it was possible. He must stay away from all heavy doors.

“Shut your mouth,” he told Josh, changing the way he held Josh’s hand so their fingers interlaced. Josh was an absolute bully, anything nice he had said about Josh had been a lie.

***

Josh was the best boyfriend Tyler could ask for. When his muscles were hurting- which Josh had said was strange, because he appeared to have no muscles at all- Josh massaged them and kissed his neck gently. He had been twenty-five for three weeks now, and the initial thrill was wearing off. He no longer ran around in fields, holding Josh’s hand, like they were in some lame indie movie. Now, he was calmer, trying to make the most of his life.

He spent hours writing songs, forgetting to eat or drink until he was lightheaded, but he got no more extreme than that. Songs were his way to release tension, safer and more productive than some of the ways he used to rely on. They weren’t as sad as some of his old songs; still not happy, but more optimistic, perhaps.

Things were just generally _better_ , even when he wasn’t feeling his best. When he felt bad, it was still nowhere near as bad as he used to feel, and he was feeling bad less often. Little things didn’t get him down as much.

Physical illness was what bothered him more, now. He had been feeling ill for the past two days, and even with Josh rubbing his back and supplying him with all the medicine, food, and water he wanted, it was gross. Having a fever and throwing up was never going to be nice.

Josh wanted to force him to the doctors, always too worried, but Tyler refused. He knew the doctor would just tell him he had a fever, so he should stay in bed and drink lots of water, and maybe give him a recommendation of some medicines to try.

Josh only managed to convince him to go to the doctors over a month later, when Tyler started throwing up again, now with the addition of nosebleeds. The bright blood against his sickly skin didn’t look anything near healthy. He gave in to Josh’s pushing, and went to the doctors.

Tyler couldn’t deny getting stressed out when they did a blood test, only to call him back to do more tests. They had an idea what it might be, but they weren’t sure. They needed to know for sure. The doctor sat in front of him and Josh, eye-to-eye with them. This was not the way you were told you were healthy. Tyler knew it was something bad, clung to Josh’s hand, fingers feeling cold, to try and comfort himself. He needed to stay calm and strong. Josh was scared, too.

“I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to deliver some bad news,” the doctor said. No surprise to either of them. “We’ve diagnosed you with leukaemia, cancer of the blood. I’m afraid we caught it pretty late, but we will do everything in our power to try and help you. Do you want to ask me any questions?”

“W-what? How bad is it?” Tyler asked. “How late did you catch it?”

“It’s already quite developed. We think if we start treatment as soon as possible, you’re likely to survive.”

 _Likely to survive_ sounded too much like ‘you might die’. Tyler couldn’t speak or hear. Josh was saying something, rubbing Tyler’s hand and comforting him. He tuned back in as the doctor was talking about support groups, how good cancer treatment was these days, the likelihood of survival.

Tyler was hollow for a while after that. He got chemo, threw up, cried at how weak he felt and looked, and forced himself to continue chemo. He seemed to be getting better, at least for a while, until his immune system was still a wreck, and his hair was falling out, and he had rashes on his skin. At points, when he was half-asleep on the bathroom floor, woken by his nausea, he thought he might be dead, in Hell somewhere.

Hope fell apart when he was told the chemo didn’t seem to be helping. It was gone altogether when they told him he was terminal.

“I’m terminal,” Tyler repeated. He had been expecting this. Not a couple months ago, maybe, but the past few weeks.

“No, he’s not. He isn’t,” Tyler heard Josh saying. He had been struggling enough with accepting Tyler had cancer, nevermind that he was going to die. Tyler didn’t struggle. He already knew. He already knew.

He already knew and it was unfair. He had made it to twenty-five, that was supposed to be it. You’re twenty-five, you surpassed all of your previous expectations, make the most of your life and have a great time, everything is fine now.

No, no, that could never have happened. His fate was to die before he reached twenty-five, and he had thrown everything off by living this long. This was never supposed to happen, so to balance out everything, he had to die only months after his predicted end. He was not allowed to enjoy this for too long. In the end, it was his body that failed him, not his mind. It was all backwards.

***

Two weeks. That was how long he managed to let himself walk towards death for before he had to stop. He couldn’t. It had been lingering in his mind for sometime, but seeing Josh cry as he finally accepted Tyler was going to die decided it for him.

They were lying on the couch once again, and Tyler turned over in his arms to stare at him. “I want one final hurrah,” he whispered. “I want you to be my last memory.”

“What do you mean?” Josh asked. There were tears in his eyes. He knew.

“I don’t want you to watch me slowly die. It’s too much. I don’t want to just- to just spend another few months throwing up and getting rashes and bleeding and pretending there’s any chance I’ll live. I just want to have one happy night.”

Josh nodded. “Yeah.” His voice broke, and Tyler hugged him close.

***

Tyler ate until he threw up. They watched three movies, things he had meant to see and never seen. They kissed deeply, passionately, with no intention to have sex. They just needed to enjoy each other, to be close to each other. Tyler let himself forget. He didn’t need to remember. Josh went to the bathroom, and Tyler rushed to the kitchen to swallow a handful of pills before he could come back downstairs. He had bought a bottle of vodka specially for today. It was his second time buying alcohol. The first time, he had been buying it for a party his friend was having. This wasn’t quite the same.

The pills kicked in within half an hour, and he was dizzy. Staring at Josh was harder now, and midnight was fast approaching. They hadn’t discussed it, but they both knew he was going to do it then.

They were laughing at some lame joke Tyler made (lately, Josh had been finding even his worst jokes funnier than he used to) and Tyler looked pathetic. His eyes stared past Josh, his skin stretched thin over his bones. Every day made him paler, and he was losing weight as he threw up more often. Everything about him was saying that he was going to die, and Josh could see it clearly. The next day, he would wake up and Tyler would not be there.

“Can you just- stay? Please,” Josh asked.

Tyler shook his head. “I have to leave. I’m so tired, Josh. I’m so tired. It’s getting worse and I love you, but I’m tired. I’m so, so sorry, I love you so much.”

“But you made it to twenty-five,” he said, sounding as betrayed as Tyler felt.

And he’s right. Tyler made it to twenty-five, and it meant nothing. It was fucking unfair. Tyler hated to swear usually, but it was true. He was going to Hell anyway, he had already lived it for months, and years of his life before that. Beating his mind had been meaningless, cancer had taken everything he did and chewed him up. It wasn’t even just a couple of tumours, they couldn’t cut it out, it was in his blood. His whole body was full of the infection.

He had felt _okay_  for once, and it was all taken away.

His last night was supposed to be happy, but he could never kill himself with a smile. Death was not happy, not even after so many years of wishing it. He hugged Josh close as the tears began to fall, but he released him too soon for either of their likings.

“It’s midnight, Josh. It’s late. You should sleep,” he suggested.

Josh shook his head, tried to convince Tyler he wasn’t tired.

“I love you, Josh. Sleep well. I love you so, so much,” he said, eyes blurring when he tried to look at Josh’s face. This way, at least he couldn’t see the tears.

“I love you, too,” Josh said. He stood up, stayed staring at Tyler for a good half a minute before he gave a firm kiss which wetted Tyler’s cheeks more than they already had been.

He went upstairs, and Tyler knew he wouldn’t sleep at all. If it had been the other way around, he knew he wouldn’t. He wished he could thank Josh for leaving, letting Tyler do this. He drifted to the kitchen, already a ghost, and picked up the vodka. It tasted terrible, flavourless yet strong, and drinking it made him want to throw up.

He summoned Death with an offering of pills and alcohol, and Death came with their scythe, smiling at the screaming ambulance that followed in their wake. Josh couldn’t go through with this, as Tyler had always expected. That was why he had to be quick, make this certain. He was frail, hopeless, so desperate to leave. He couldn’t make the people he loved watch him fall apart, definitely not Josh. He couldn’t get any more broken than he already was. Maybe this was the easiest way, but it still hurt. Tyler wished he could live forever with Josh as more than just a scar, a wound which would never completely heal.

**Author's Note:**

> tw: death, suicide, pills, alcohol (anything ive missed???)


End file.
